Where The Finnow Waters Flow

To visualize not that hard I hear a lone gray crow
Cawing on a high branch of an oak tree by where the Finnow flow
On it's way to swell the Blackwater on it's journey to the sea
Still the places once familiar now seem remote from me.

I picture her the brown haired rose though her name is not Rose
With laughter in her happy face and her eyes blue as the sloes
That ripen on the Blackthorn tree in the cool days of the Fall
Her home not far from Finnow banks and her I still recall.

Far from the fields by the old Town she lives a happy life
A good mother to her children and to her husband a good wife
She and her man may well return for to grow old and gray
Where the ageless Finnow through the old fields slowly winds it's way

On through Inchaleigh and Claraghatlea and Liscreagh and Dooneen
Towards the Blackwater at Drishane through places evergreen
The people like the seasons destined to come and go
But the old fields remain forever where the Finnow waters flow.

I fancy I can hear the lark in the brightening morning sky
Above the rushy meadow he carols as he fly
But I am thinking of the past and the past seems long ago
And life goes on without me where the Finnow waters flow.